Malapropos
by WhimsicalShmoo
Summary: A hospital was not where Gilbert wanted to meet Oz again for the first time in years, not a place in which he had ever expected to do so. He never wanted Oz to see him like this. AU, Eventual OzXGil
1. Chapter 1

"Mr. Nightray," someone is shaking me gently, dragging me back from the depths of slumber. "It's time to get up. You overslept again."

I never used to oversleep, back at home. Always up at the brink of dawn, alert and prepared to start another day. But what is the point in rising early at this place? There is nothing to do…no one I want to see. Just more and more white walls. Empty, lonely…

"All right," I murmur, rubbing at my bleary eyes as I sit up in bed. The nurse smiles down at me cheerfully, obviously pleased with my compliant behavior. Some of the other patients are not so easily dealt with.

Once she has left the room, I get to my feet, plain white socks against cold white floors. But my clothes, when I finally locate them, are dark: black almost, but just a shade lighter towards blue. Such contrast against the walls, such difference. It at once makes me feel safe and exposed. But it is a familiar sensation, and so one I accept eagerly. In a world so strange and changing, any trace of consistency is valuable.

I glance at the empty bed next to me, covers pristine white and arranged precisely. Just last week, another human had lain there, only feet away from me. Another heart beat, another pulse…_gone_. They found him two nights ago, dead.

Shaking my head of such thoughts, I get to my feet, and pull on my clothes.

* * *

Breakfast is much the same as usual. Bland food, bland faces. I sit alone at the white table, jabbing at the sickly pancakes. Their pallor prompts me to use syrup, more and more, until they're saturated. It does nothing to improve the taste.

Cafeterias are supposed to be loud, unbearably noisy. This one is quiet, at times deathly silent. Deathly as its patients. Sometimes I feel I can smell the death in the air. A ridiculous notion…how would I know what death smells like…?

The soggy mess is unappetizing. I continue to push it around, knowing I'm never going to eat this. But I'll sit with it for a few minutes longer. After downing the orange juice, I briefly consider another bite of the pancakes, before dumping them.

Now what? Another day of sitting in bed, waiting for the next attack to come. Such are all days in this place. At least all days when _he_doesn't come to visit. But those are few and far between, due to the restrictions his parents have placed on him. After all these years, it's one of the only things I'm thankful to them for.

Much to my dismay, today seems to be one of _those_ days. I've just returned to my room, nose buried in a battered copy of _The Holy Knight_'s seventh volume. They're the only books in my possession, every single volume…

The loud speaker comes on: "Gilbert Nightray, please report to the visitor center."

Only one person ever visits me. _Him_. I think he's the only one who knows I'm in here that cares, and I wish he didn't.

Slipping the book back under my bed—I keep them all under here, not that I'm hiding them or anything—I exit the room, and make my way down the hall, steps slow with trepidation. I don't want to see _him_. I don't want those creepy mismatched eyes on me, or his arms around my neck, that deranged smile up right by my face.

I should just refuse to meet with him, but that would be ungrateful. His family has supported me, if one can call it that. They've kept me alive, and off the streets.

When I reach the designated area, I see a trace of blond, and my stomach churns. But there's something off. The hair is too short, the body too big, to be that of my adoptive brother's.

My footsteps falter, so loud against the white tile. I can feel my heart in my throat, beating, beating. And without thinking, my legs take me towards the blond, though my mind screams at them to get me away.

My internal conflict seems to have alerted him. He turns in his chair, and then leaps to his feet, emerald eyes shining.

"Gil!" he exclaims, and his arms are around me. I stiffen. He's still taller than me, and still has those same eyes, the same wayward hair. It's been years…4, 5? I've tried to forget.

"Oz," I return, awkwardly raising my arm to return the gesture. My legs are trembling, and a familiar weak feeling overcomes me. Not here, not now…

"Gil, it's been so long. I heard you were here and…and…" his smile falters. "Why are you here? The nurses wouldn't tell me, but to be in a hospital…"

"I…" I begin, mind blank in panic. I can't tell him the real reason, but I've never been good at lying. Especially to Oz, especially at a moment's notice. But I'm saved from responding, if one can call it that.

It starts with a tickle in my throat, a blockage, something foreign that needs to come out. And then the coughing begins. It starts off normal, but quickly becomes hacking, sick clogged gasps interlacing the coughs.

"Gil!" Oz is looking at me in alarm, eyes wide: wanting to help, but not knowing how. "What's going on? Are you…"

I pull away from him, covering my mouth with my hands, my arms, anything to stop him from seeing. I'm fine, I want to say, but there's no way I can force the words out. And they would be a lie, such an obvious lie.

When my knees give out, he follows me down, catching me before my head can hit the floor. My hands leave my face exposed and unprotected, having instinctively jerked out to break my fall. And Oz _sees_.

"Gil…"

I must look quite the sight. Blood smearing down my face, onto my hands, onto my dark clothes. Onto the perfectly white floor with any luck. But I can't give this much consideration, as the coughing continues.

Voices are coming, the receptionist is shouting. But all I'm aware of is the searing pain in my chest, and Oz's face, his mouth moving with words I can't make out. It's been so long since I last saw him, but his face has hardly changed. His chin is only slightly more pointed, his features just a little more defined. But he is still Oz, still…still what?

And then other hands are on me, pulling me away from Oz, and onto a stretcher. The only think I can hear now is myself, hacking. It sounds disgusting, absolutely sickening. I wince at it, with self hate, but I can't make it stop.

Oz is chasing after me, as I'm carried back to my room. His eyes and hair are flashes of color in this dull place, so distinct against the white-garbed doctors. Is he saying something? I strain my ears, but the words refuse to come clear.

I never wanted Oz to see me like this. Weak, pathetic, disgusting. I wanted to be stronger when and if I ever saw him again. I wanted to be capable of protecting, of taking the burden off his shoulders. That was all he'd ever done for me, after all. I needed to return the favor.

But now…

I feel light-headed, and the room is spinning. I still see color, blond—his eyes too small to make out—and so I know he's there. I almost wish he wasn't, but it warms a part of me, fills a hole in my heart that had been torn open so many years back.

The oxygen isn't getting to my brain, as the violent coughing continues. Black spots appear, and I can feel consciousness fading.

Fading, fading…

I try to hold the image of Oz's concerned face in my mind, but that fades too.

* * *

**This is my first time writing for Pandora Hearts. Just finished the anime yesterday, and the last episode was terrible, but I still love the series.**

**I probably won't be updating anytime soon, just figured I'd put this up to see if anyone thinks it's worth continuing. Be harsh. I'm far from understanding the characters well enough to write them - -' But I figured I'd contribute to the fandom...it needs more love.**

**And thoughts on the perspective? 1st person Gilbert just happened, but not entirely sure I love it...**


	2. Chapter 2

The trees move past in a blur, leaves crunching beneath my feet. This is the third time I've run away this week, and the reasons can all be described with one word: _Vincent._ After awhile I let myself rest against a tree, feeling the rapid pulse of my heart against my ribs calm with each breath.

I found this place a few months ago, a small secluded area in the back of our property—Vincent's family's property really (I hope never to be included in that 'we'.) It's the one place I can come for some peace and quiet, the one place I can run away to, because I've always run away. From Vincent, from cats, from all the problems I can't stand to face.

But here, I know Vincent won't follow me, even if he could, because he enjoys having me hide, almost as much as he loves seeing me squirm under his creepy, mismatched gaze. At first I thought it was brotherly, but it's darker, more perverse than any relationship between brothers should be. Though Vincent is a very twisted individual himself, so maybe this is his way of treating a brother? I don't know.

My thoughts are interrupted by a boy around my age, stumbling into the clearing. On a second examination, he's probably older. A little taller, stronger built. But it's his eyes that really catch my attention. Brilliant green, sparkling like shattered emeralds in the sunlight. He looks at me with surprise, a question forming on his lips. "What's your name?" he asks, moving forward to sit next to me.

"Gilbert Nightray," I answer without a thought. I'm used to doing as I'm told.

"Oz Vessalius," he returns, and I marvel at the strangeness of the name. As he extends his hand, my own meeting it in a shake, I can't help but think that it fits, regardless.

"So what are you doing here?" he continues, leaning back against the tree trunk. Those brilliant green orbs remain locked on me.

"Nothing," I respond, immediately recognizing the lie as futile. There are tear stains down my cheeks, a panicked flush to my more than slightly disheveled appearance. Even without the evidence, I have never been a very good liar.

"That's not true," he replies, the mischievous smile on his face belying the concern in his voice. "Do I have to force it out of you?"

He laughs. It is a joke, then. But I go along with the "request" anyway. "I just needed a little time by myself. My fam—Vincent.." and I trail off neither knowing how, nor desiring to continue,

"Your family…" Oz states, not a question. 'I could say I'm here for much the same reason. Vincent is your brother?"

I shake my head, though really, is the guess false? "Adopted…I think."

A fine blond eyebrow lifts at that. "You _think_?"

"He…" I don't know how to word this. Ever since I've know Vincent—in fact, the reason for my adoption, was because Vincent thought I was his real brother. Which, really, had never made much sense to me. I'd never seen him before that day in the park, when he eventually persuaded me to come home with him. A caring gesture, I had thought at the time. "He doesn't think so. He…seems to think we're related by blood." I finish hesitantly, watching for a reaction.

Oz laughs, such a nice laugh. It's happy and bright, sunshine on the clear first day of spring. "That's cute," he finally says, subsiding to a content smile.

I shake my head vehemently. "Really, it's not!" A pause. "Why are….why are you here?"

"I told you, Gil~bert," he responds in a sing-song tone. "Same as you. And I'm exploring."

"Exploring?" I repeat, making the declaration an inquiry.

"Yeah," he confirms, blond head bobbing up and down a few times for emphasis. "I just moved in not too long ago. That's probably why I haven't seen you around here before…since this _is_ my property and all."

"What?" I squeak, taken aback by the sudden revelation that I've been trespassing. "I thought nobody owned this…I—"

"No one _did_ before we bought it," Oz answers quickly, the bright smile still on his face.

"I…I'm sorry!" I falter, jumping up and hanging my head apologetically. "I'll leave right now, I…I'll—"

"You don't have to," Oz replies, smiling at me as if enjoying my distress. "You aren't hurting anyone. And I like hanging out with you."

I continue to stand, shocked and unsure whether I should run off somewhere else or stay. Oz makes up my mind for me, tugging on my wrist so that I sit back down. I can feel my face flushing at the contact, combined with the words.

"Are you sure?" I should go, really. I was wrong to be here. The longer I'm away, the worse Vincent will be when I get back. But there's another part of me that wants to stay, despite the eventual consequences.

"Yes," he answers, releasing my wrist, and casually resuming his previous position.

We spend the next few hours sitting together and conversing about anything that comes to mind. Is this what friends do? Sit and talk about things, useless things, and enjoy themselves? I've never really known anyone else my age before, apart from Vincent, and he can hardly be called a friend. Even with my limited knowledge on the subject, I know that.

For the life of me I can't remember the first several years of my life, a phenomenon I've never been all too bothered by. Only the homeless year or so spent on my own, before Vincent's family adopted me. I've never been to school, only home schooled with Vincent. It took awhile for me to get up to his grade level, a fact that had always bothered me, despite the justification. Only recently had we begun to learn the same material.

But I'd never known anyone outside my adoptive family. Not closely, at any rate. I've never had a friend, if Oz is truly going to be my first and change that.

He has an odd habit of dodging certain topics, I soon notice. With the slightest sign of interest, he'll go on about a topic for a half hour. Creating complex scenarios of the top of his head, and imputing his personal opinions, likes, and dislikes. But whenever the discussion trended towards more personal things—family, friends, _himself_—the blond would deftly switch focus and begin on a whole new tangent.

Not that it really matters. I'm fairly reserved myself, and don't enjoy volunteering random information to strangers I've just met. Because really, that's what we are. _Strangers_. I was silly to think we could become _friends_ so easily. Positively stupid. It's hardly been a day, and friendship takes awhile to form. Right?

When the sun begins to set, I start to grow a bit nervous. I'm not afraid of the dark—at least, not nearly as much as I'm afraid of cats, not that that says much. But it's really getting late now. Surely I must have missed supper. Last time this happened, Vincent's parents weren't very pleased. Not at all. I shudder, just thinking back on it.

Noticing my edginess, Oz shifts position against the tree. He is so impossibly calm and composed. Not once during our conversations did he seem nervous at all, even when he made a point to switch subjects. He did it as fluidly and confidently as he seemed to do most things.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up at such an improbably sharp angle, but it looks soft to the touch. Like I imagine a cloud would, if I didn't know from my studies with Vincent that clouds were really composed of water.

"It's just…I should be getting back," I say, leaving out the details. Those are the only lies I'm ever any good at, because they're really not lies at all. It's just not telling the full truth. People rarely do that, anyway.

For a moment he seems about to pursue the topic, and I brace myself for questions, struggling to think of another reason for my anxiety. I don't want to tell him about that night, the last time. He doesn't need to know.

And, much to my relief, he doesn't press the matter. He =is merely silent a few moments longer, before getting to his feet suddenly. I jump a little when he does so, earning another clear laugh from his lips. It might just be me, but I feel as if he's trying to tease me on purpose. Is that another thing friends do? Tease each other? It seems more down Vincent's alley, though not nearly so bad…

"All right," he dances to the edge of the clearing, the exact spot from where he had entered several hours before. "I hope to see you again, Gil~bert! You're fun to talk to."

_What is with that inflection?_ I think briefly, but don't let it get to me. It's probably more his character than anything having to do with me.

"Goodbye," I reply, wincing at how overly formal the response sounds. But we aren't friends yet, right? So it should be formal. But I hardly think we still qualify as strangers either.

"Goodbye~!" he waves, before disappearing into the trees.

Sighing to myself, I start off towards home, if I may use the term loosely. The sun is nearly gone now, and there will no doubt be a price to pay on my return.

* * *

**These are sort of flashbacks for the two of them if anyone didn't catch that. I'm thinking I'll alternate chapters, flashback and then present. And I'm thinking I might alternate to Oz's POV if I'm any good with it. Thoughts, opinions?**

**I know this took ages to get up. No promises the next one will be up sooner. But I will continue this at some point. I just have to get back into Pandora Hearts, as I've been into other shows, such as Merlin which I need to go catch now. Summer is coming, so I might have more time then. We'll see. Hope they're not too out of character ^^' My mind hasn't been in this fandom for awhile. **

GriffinRose**: If I continue writing, I'll definitely continue posting. And I will continue writing, it just might take awhile. I corrected the third person back to first ^^' Thank you for pointing that out! Glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for the review ^^**


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